


The King's Justice

by Mytiny_Sybarite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ADWD spoilers, ASOS Spoilers, Angst, Character Death, M/M, References to Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytiny_Sybarite/pseuds/Mytiny_Sybarite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb finds Theon at the Dreadfort. </p>
<p>
  <i>“Theon,” Robb said again, just to say it, “if it were only me and you in the world I could forgive you… no, not forgive… pretend. Pretend it had never happened. I could drown in you and forget everything else...” He let the pause lengthen, so they could both live in that fantasy world for as long as possible, before shattering it, “But it’s not just us. King’s don’t have more freedom, they have less. Because everyone is watching, waiting for a weakness, a mistake... a reason to betray you.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Justice

**The King's Justice**  
  
  
The cell stank of rotting flesh and blood and shit; it was all Robb could do not to wretch. He wanted to cover his mouth and nose, wanted to flee the room and the stench, and flee the occupant of the cell most of all. But he couldn’t. He was the King and he had to do this, and he had to do it properly.  
  
Robb clenched his fist around the haft of the torch and steeled himself. _Family, Duty, Honor_ – the Tully words – rang in his mind… It seemed too late for the Stark words; winter had already come.  
  
The man in the centre of the tiny cell didn’t look up – he was shackled hand and foot, half flayed and almost starved to death. Robb fixed the torch into the sconce by the door and walked towards him trying to see something of the man he’d known; he didn’t look like Theon Greyjoy in the slightest. Where was the mocking smile, the arrogant tilt of his chin…?  
  
The man winced and turned his face away from the light, away from Robb.  
  
“I feared your coming…” then he looked up at Robb, “I feared you _not coming_ more.”  
  
Robb looked at Theon, trying not to show any emotion; Theon had always said he was too easy to read, but Robb had had to learn about trust the hard way since then. The crosshatching of scars marred his skin as well as his soul now. He couldn’t allow himself to feel. He was a king. He’d come to deal with a traitor. He’d come for justice; it tasted bitter as bile in his throat.  
  
“Why?” Robb whispered.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Theon croaked, “I know you can’t forgive me…”  
  
“I trusted you,” Robb’s voice dropped to barely a whisper, “more than anyone. Why did you do it?”  
  
“My father-”  
  
“No!” Robb spoke firmly, “Don’t tell me about your father. Tell me why _you_ did it.”  
  
Theon was silent for a long moment, until Robb began to think he wouldn’t answer.  
  
Theon spoke hesitantly, “I… I wanted more. To be respected… as a son and as a king. As you were. Are. Respected and followed… To be loved.”  
  
“ _I_ loved you. You were my brother,” Robb said.  
  
Theon’s look said ‘liar’ clearer than words, but Robb didn’t flinch from the accusation; he had gotten better at lying with his face after all. Robb’s gaze was searching, “Wasn’t that enough? You had to… Winterfell… everyone...” his voice sounded half dead itself on those words.  
  
“It wasn’t enough… it wasn’t _real_. Would you be so vengeful if someone had killed me? I am not your true brother and I never have been. I never belonged at Winterfell any more than I did on Pyke.”  
  
“You belonged at my side,” Robb whispered. He wanted to scream that he could never forgive _anyone_ for hurting Theon, which was why Ramsey Bolton was already in pieces, why the torturers had been cut down the moment Robb discovered them, why it had to be Robb who came to Theon now and not someone else Robb would have to kill later for laying hands on him…  
  
“Then you should never have ordered me to leave it!” Theon snapped, then continued sadly, “I was always a better man when I stood next to you. Not much better, but enough. I’ve replayed our last conversation over and over… imagined all the ways you could have convinced me to stay...”  
  
Theon let that smile bend his lips and Robb saw the man he remembered, and he ached at how whole it made him feel. That smile was always his undoing. Robb hadn’t seen it in more than a year; he’d been furious with himself for missing it most mornings before he remembered Theon’s betrayal… and even more furious for missing it at night when he hadn’t forgotten anything. That smile had pulled an answering one from him the first day they’d met before he’d had time to think. That smile had won him over when an eleven year old Theon had raided the kitchens and Robb had wound up taking the blame; when he’d caught a fifteen year old Theon with a baker’s daughter in _Robb’s own bed_ … and Robb had lied for him, against all his better judgements; when a nineteen year old Theon had stolen six bottles on Dornish wine that had been a gift from Robert Baratheon, and Robb had awoken naked abed with Theon wrapped around him, his head pounding and filled with memories he’d blushed at for years… not that they hadn’t repeated every sinful act a hundred times since then.  
  
Robb tore his gaze from that smile, still filled with shame and lust in equal parts, even now. That crooked smile had made him love Theon. And now he hated him for it.  
  
Theon continued wistfully, “If you’d wanted me to stay, I would have. If you’d needed me, but you didn’t.” And the smile died, “I wish you had…”  
  
 _Of course I needed you…_  
  
“I needed you to make the alliance. As you promised you would,” Robb said sternly, every inch the King he should be.  
  
Theon bowed his head, not meeting Robb’s eye, “Of course, Your Grace.”  
  
“Stop it,” Robb said, regretting using his Kingship as a shield already, because Theon had always been better at these games than he was.  
  
“You first,” Theon spat back.  
  
“Theon…” Robb breathed, the name felt awkward on his tongue after so long unspoken – it had become a curse word, banished to the dark recesses of his mind, not to be thought of again. But using it now felt like scratching an itch or remembering something that had niggled. Satisfying.  
  
Robb crouched and looked right into Theon’s face, the smile came back, full of bravado… but it was cracked, the lie of it as clear as water up close; it was as broken as he was.  
  
“Theon,” Robb said again, just to say it, “if it were only me and you in the world I _could_ forgive you… no, not forgive… _pretend_. Pretend it had never happened. I could drown in you and forget everything else...” He let the pause lengthen, so they could both live in that fantasy world for as long as possible, before shattering it, “But it’s not just us. King’s don’t have more freedom; they have less. Because everyone is watching, waiting for a weakness, a mistake... a reason to betray you.”  
  
“Like I did,” Theon whispered bitterly.  
  
Robb’s eyes wandered over the familiar face, so changed now. It was bruised all shades, from the fresh reds to deep, ripe blues and purples all the way through to faded yellows and greens. His flesh was swollen and torn in places, cuts infected, his lips dry and cracked where they weren’t black with old blood. Deep bruising collared his throat, old and new, months and months of it. The skin of his bare chest flayed in long strips of red and pus yellow; his back no doubt matched. Robb felt tears well in his eyes, hot and stinging, ready to fall whether he willed it or no. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching out.  
  
“Why did I let you go…” Robb croaked, barely able to push the words out, his throat was so tight with emotion that it hurt.  
  
Theon looked back, a tiny spark of that old anger flared in his eyes, “Why did you _send me away_ , you mean. It wasn’t appropriate for a king… _I_ wasn’t appropriate. You had to stop tongues wagging; marry, father some sons… and now I’m sure those rumours seem foolish. How could King Robb ever have loved-”  
  
Robb raised a hand to Theon’s face; Theon flinched, expecting a backhand. Robb touched his fingers lightly to Theon’s lips, silencing him, and shook his head. He stroked down Theon’s cheek with the backs of his knuckles, feather light over the bruises, then cupped his face in his hands, looking into his eyes.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Robb whispered, “I’m sorry too. I wish I’d never sent you away. I wish it every day.”  
  
Robb leaned forward and rested his forehead against Theon’s; his breath was foul, but Robb couldn’t find it in himself to care. Robb relished knowing Theon was alive and close in such a tangible way, letting the stale breath caress his skin like it hadn’t for months. Tears spilled down Theon’s bruised cheeks and Robb felt them tickle between his fingers still cupping the other man’s face. He pulled back and looked at Theon’s beautiful, broken sorry face; he felt his heart break. Robb laid gentle kisses against those tears as they fell.  
  
“Robb… I missed you. I missed you so much. I wouldn’t have… if I’d had you with me. Any of it. But you haven’t lost everything… Bran and Rickon are alive. It doesn’t make what I did forgivable. But you haven’t lost them. I didn’t kill them.”  
  
“I know,” Robb whispered, lips resting against Theon’s cheek, “We found them. It’s alright.”  
  
Robb’s hand moved to his hip, unsheathed the hunting knife as quietly as he could, but he knew Theon heard it all the same. Robb pulled back enough to look into Theon’s eyes, almost asking for permission. Theon stayed almost completely still, but a movement Robb couldn’t have defined, answered his unspoken question. Robb leaned in and kissed that bruised and blackened mouth gently, knowing he should be revolted, knowing this wasn’t how the King _should_ act and not caring.  
  
“I missed you too,” Robb whispered against his lips, then pulled him close and whispered fiercely, "There were times I hated you, but there was _never_ a time I stopped loving you." He buried his face against Theon’s neck as he pressed the blade into his chest, pierced his heart.  
  
Robb felt the heat of the blood as it spilled messily from the wound, seeping through his fingers – pressed desperately over the gaping hole in Theon’s chest, trying to undo it, refill it – and painting him ghastly red, head to toe. The embrace was painfully tight, but Robb could feel Theon slipping away regardless, his breath weaker and, in seconds, gone altogether.  
  
Robb stayed there on his knees until the blood had cooled; until his head pounded and he didn’t have any tears left to spill; until Catelyn Stark overrode the orders not to disturb him and pried his hands gently from the body.  
  
“It was justice,” she said.  
  
“There is nothing just about this.”  
  
But The King in the North left the traitor’s cell composed as a king should be, knowing that justice had been done, because everyone was still watching and he couldn’t afford any more mistakes.  
  
  
The End


End file.
